


The Naughty List

by serenalunera



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Daryl Is Sixteen, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rick Is Santa, Alternate Universe - Santa Is Real, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Daryl, Consensual Underage Sex, Crack, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Oral Sex, Please Don't Stone Me For This, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rickyl, Rickyl Writers' Group, Rickyl Writers' Group December 2015 Challenge, Santa!Rick, Smut, This Was Just An Excuse To Write Christmas Smut, Top Rick, Underage Kissing, Underage Sex, virgin!Daryl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 07:29:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5530994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenalunera/pseuds/serenalunera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl has always been on the Nice List. And for the very first time, after a not-so-good sixteenth year, he finds himself on the Naughty List.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Naughty List

**Author's Note:**

> i said i would write something for Christmas, i never said anything about it being an acceptable thing to give someone... haha  
> merry Christmas everybody! hope you'll like this! please leave kudos and take the time to write a comment if you enjoyed it, it's worth a lot more than any kind of present in my eyes! :)

Daryl's family had never made a big deal out of Christmas. According to Merle, it was bad enough that some strange dude could just appear out of nowhere and leave stuff in their house, they weren't about to make it easy for the guy. Daryl had stopped believing in Santa sometime after he had turned 12, only to wake up in the middle of the night that Christmas and actually see the guy filling his stocking with presents, an amused little smirk turning the corners of his lips upwards as he brought his gloved finger against them in a silent request of secrecy.

Because yes, Santa's beard wasn't _that_ big, at least not enough to obscure his mouth, and most certainly not _that_ white – more like salt and pepper, really. Just like the hair around his temples, while the rest of his curls was a nice shade of brown. And he wasn't this huge, chubby guy everyone thought he was, either. More like reasonably tall and skinny. With nice blue eyes and a kind smile. And his costume wasn't all that ill fitting – or red, for that matter. It was red alright, just not fire engine red, more along the lines of a deep wine red, with tan fur details on the collar, gloves and hat. And his pants were just plain black jeans, topped with nice cowboy boots. Everything fitting him like a glove, of course.

All in all, Santa was a handsome fellow. Which was a disturbing thought to have when you were a 12 year old boy who had grown up believing that thinking a man was _handsome_ made you gay, and that being gay meant going to hell. That was what his family had always claimed, anyway. So Daryl had buried that thought deep inside of him, in a corner of his mind where he never really went – except for the occasional night where he questioned his very existence and why he liked looking at boys way more than girls. But no one was supposed to know about that, let alone his father. Or the man in the red coat, for that matter.

Ever since that night, Daryl had made it a game to wait up for Santa on Christmas Eve, if only for the few minutes it would take him to find his name on the List and leave presents in the stocking at the foot of his bed accordingly. Santa never said much, he would just shake his head at Daryl's stubbornness and tell him to go back to sleep in that low, gravelly voice of his, the thick southern accent making the boy smile every time. He would go the same way he had come, silent as he melted in the shadows with his giant, gift-filled bag thrown over his shoulder.

Three Christmases later and Daryl was still high on the Nice List. Up until he turned 16, anyway. After that, it became incredibly hard to keep himself in check, let alone ignore his raging hormones, especially around other boys his age – or older. His stupid crush on Coach Negan wasn't helping, and neither was the way his friend David's older brother looked at him when they were over at his house. Caesar wasn't shy about it, raking his eyes up and down Daryl's body and licking his lips, appreciating the narrow waist and wide shoulders shamelessly.

At first, Daryl hadn't thought it was something Caesar did consciously, but when the teenager found himself on his knees with a mouth full of cock not even a month later, the thought quickly left his mind. This was the first of many occurrences, with Caesar as well as others – but never Coach Negan, Daryl was too afraid of what the man would do to him if he so much as got a whiff of the teenager's attraction for him.

In the end, it ended up being the year of many firsts. First sexual encounter, first cigarette, first time he got so plastered he fell asleep in Margaret Greene's barn, only to be woken up by a bucket of ice-cold water and a very irritated Hershel. First time he went through his brother's porn, and got a few ideas in the process. First time he stole something – lube from a store and condoms from the school's infirmary, simply because his brother wouldn't give him money without asking him what it was for, and Daryl really hadn't been in the mood to explain at the time. Also the first time he worried about Santa not showing up, because of all the things he had done that year.

\---

So when Santa does show up that night, it comes as a surprise for Daryl, who gave up on waiting for the guy about half an hour ago, and is well on his way to sleep when he hears the rustle of paper at the foot of his bed. Sitting up, the teenager is relieved to see Santa there, rummaging through the List, a crease forming on his brow the more he fiddles with it.

"Can't find my name?" Daryl asks, biting his lip and playing with the hem of his over-sized shirt as his old timid self comes back to life in the presence of the one man he cannot bear to disappoint.

“You've been a naughty boy this year, Daryl. I'm afraid you didn't make it to the Nice List.” The older man looks up with a stern look on his face, turns the List around so the teenager can take a peak, and surely there's a mistake because his name _is_ there – but one look at the title and Daryl's face crumbles.

It's the _Naughty List._

“So what happens now?” Daryl frowns, looking up at the man in the red coat with wide eyes. The teenager feels so foolish now, regret filling his gut with lead. It's not the fact that he won't be getting any presents that saddens him, but the look of disappointment on Santa's face at the realization that Daryl isn't a little angel anymore.

"You go back to sleep and try to behave better for next year." Santa's tone is final, his brow furrowed and his mouth pulled in a thin line indicating just how frustrating this whole situation is. He shakes his head, sighing, before turning to the shadows, ready to leave.

"Wait! I can show ya what a good boy I can be." The teenager bites his lip again, this time in a totally different fashion – seductively. It's a little clumsy, and really, he has no idea why he said something like that, but he's glad he did, because Santa turns to him instead of leaving, even if it's with an incredulous look on his face.

"It's a little late for that, Daryl." The man clears his throat, hoping his harsh tone will be enough to deter the boy, because as much as Santa prides himself on the clarity of his thoughts, there is _no way_ the teenager didn't mean to sound so... Alluring.

"It ain't the 25th yet." Daryl smirks, his whole attitude changing as he crawls over to the end of the bed, where he kneels before Santa and looks up at him with mischief in his eyes. "I'll do _anything._ " He purrs, biting his lip again for good measure.

"I'm not sure there's anything to _be_ done, Daryl." Santa arches a brow, looking down at the boy kneeling in front of him, everything about him screaming _man_ except maybe for the leftover baby fat plumping up his pale cheeks.

Daryl says nothing, a mysterious smile pulling his mouth upwards as he scoots just a little bit closer. His hands find the older man's legs tentatively, he lets them run up the length of his thighs before tugging on the leather of his belt with deft fingers, a small smirk playing on his lips. Then he gets to work, sliding the material out of the loop and undoing the buckle in slow, careful movements. He keeps the button and zipper for last, and steals a quick look upwards to meet Santa's rapidly darkening eyes.

"This might get you _higher_ on the Naughty List, Daryl." The man's voice is suddenly a lot lower, the huskiness of it sending delicious shivers down the teenager's spine.

"Worth a try." Daryl grins wolfishly as he pulls down the front of Santa's pants and frees his surprisingly heavy cock. One look at it and the boy forgets all about being good because something like _this_ doesn't need a good boy. No, something _this_ big needs a bad, bad boy to take care of it.

Daryl licks his lips, looking up at Santa as he starts kissing the thick rod, running his lips up and down the throbbing vein on the underside. He keeps at it for a few minutes, laying open-mouthed kisses everywhere he can reach as well as little kitten licks on the head, lapping up the older man's precome and humming in his throat at how sweet it tastes. Santa is fully hard by the time Daryl stops scraping his teeth along the shaft to wrap his lips around the crown and starts sucking gently.

The feeling of a gloved hand in his hair makes him smirk around the head before he starts tonguing the slit, wringing a gasp right out of Santa's throat. Daryl moans encouragingly, sliding his mouth farther on the thick shaft to get more of those hot, sex-filled sounds out of the older man. The boy keeps working around the generous girth for long minutes, bobbing his head slow and deep until something similar to a punched-out grunt resounds above him once Santa's cock finally hits the back of his throat. Daryl hums again, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks harder for a moment before pulling off with a wet sound.

"What 'bout now?" The teenager inquires, the innocence in his tone in total contrast with the cruel smirk dancing on his lips as he looks up at the man in the red coat.

"Much higher on the Naughty List. You shouldn't even _know_ how to do that." Santa grits his teeth, regretting every single one of his words when the boy goes back to work on his cock, taking him all in and working to get his throat as tight as possible, pulling breathless moans out of the older man every time his tongue starts getting a little more adventurous.

“Ya should sit down 'fore ya fall over, Santa. Wouldn't want ya ta get hurt 'cause of me." Daryl's voice is a little rough when he pulls off again. He gestures to the bed with a tilt of his head, a self-satisfied smirk stretching his lips as he palms himself through his underwear.

Santa grunts but doesn't move, trying to find out whether or not he should flee before it's too late, but clearly deciding that he's a little too far gone since he does as the boy suggested and sits on the edge of the bed. Daryl doesn't waste any time, straddling him right away and wrapping his arms around the older man's neck. The teenager takes the time to appreciate his good looks before leaning in to press his lips against Santa's, the kiss way too timid for someone who was nursing on the man's cock only moments before.

Santa kisses him back after a few seconds, slow and gentle as his hands settle on the boy's waist, gloved fingers slipping underneath the too large hand-me-down shirt trying to pass as a pajama top. Daryl hums softly, fast hands reaching up to take the man's hat off. He discards it somewhere on the floor and laughs at the offended sound Santa makes against his mouth, the kiss quickly turning sloppy and playful. The teenager manages to get the older man's gloves off at some point, the man's palms sliding up to the small of his back beneath his shirt to pull him even closer.

Daryl cards his fingers through soft brown curls, whimpering as Santa starts kissing down his neck, nipping the collarbone protruding from the over-sized shirt. The older man breaks their embrace for a moment to get rid of the offending garment, tossing it over his shoulder before going back to kissing the boy straddling him, hands roaming all over his chest and thighs, the material of Daryl's underwear blocking him from going any further.

Long minutes pass during which the pair does nothing but kiss, taking the time to undress one another until Santa's jacket is off and his shirt is open, a fully naked Daryl sitting in his lap. The boy is all creamy skin and sinful curves, hips so narrow the older man wonders if he's ever going to fit between them, the thought bringing a shameful blush to his face, thankfully partly hidden by his beard. The teenager reaches for the nightstand at some point, fishing a bottle of lube out of it – to which Santa widens his eyes, surprised by how _prepared_ Daryl seems to be.

The young Dixon takes long minutes to open himself up, kissing the man he's straddling without so much as batting a lash – as if he's been doing this his whole life. There's the occasional moan, of course, but never loud enough to disturb the way their lips dance together, or the back and forth of the fingers inside of him. It feels like forever until the boy is sinking down on the older man's shaft, wincing as his body makes way for the sheer girth of Santa's cock, thighs trembling with the effort.

"Am I hurting you?" Santa frowns, holding the teenager's hips steady so he doesn't injure himself any further, worry etched in the crease of his brow and the fine lines of his face.

"Do I get on the Nice List if I say no?" Daryl looks hopeful then, a pained little smile tugging the corners of his mouth up as his fingers dig into the older man's shoulders – for leverage as well as the opportunity to focus on something other than the burning sensation of the man's cock inside of him.

"No, not if you're lying." Santa tilts his head at that, searching the boy's face for answers – even though the one he's looking for is painfully visible in the tension of his features. The teenager inhales sharply, suddenly looking very shy as he lowers his gaze, eyelashes fanning over the top of his cheekbones.

"Then yes. A little. I've never done this before." Daryl admits, biting his lip to keep his nerves in check as he looks down at where they're connected, something like butterflies fluttering in his stomach. With his eyes down, he can't see the surprise on Santa's face, or the pleased smile slowly forming on his lips.

"Looks like you're not as naughty as I thought." The older man chuckles, tilting the boy's head up with a couple of fingers on his chin, delighting in the incredulous look he finds on Daryl's face at the meaning behind his words.

"Ya mean keepin' my V card till now is gonna get me back on the Nice List?" The teenager cocks a brow questioningly, a frown distorting his features as he finds himself slightly offended by the standards to get one's name back on that damn List.

"No, not that." Santa straight up laughs at that, shaking his head amusedly before bringing the young Dixon's face closer to his to plant a small kiss on his mouth, pulling away before Daryl gets a chance to reciprocate, leaving the boy huffing in his lap.

"Can we still... do this? I still wanna make ya come." Daryl smiles timidly, looking up at Santa through his lashes. A deep flush settles on his cheeks as he waits for the older man's answer, worrying his lower lip between his teeth in the process.

"You want to make _me_ come?" Santa sounds perplexed, brows shooting up to his hairline at the boy's words. He thought the teenager would be a little more selfish, and rightfully so, with it being his first time and all.

"Told ya I'd show ya what a _good boy_ I can be, 'member?" Daryl is more confident now, a playful smile turning his lips up at the corners. His grin widens the second Santa starts nodding, an amused look on his face as he puts his hands back on the boy's waist.

Daryl's brows knit together as he pushes himself up, the burn no longer scorching like the fiery pits of hell, but softer, more like sitting a little too close to the campfire, or sinking into a hot bath without checking the temperature first. The first few thrusts are a little clumsy, and either agonizingly slow or way too fast, but soon enough the teenager finds a rhythm and starts enjoying himself, his moans quickly joined by Santa's own. The older man keeps murmuring encouragements in his ear and kissing his neck, his hands stroking along his sides and squeezing the meat of his thighs, feeling them work underneath his touch.

"A little help please?" Daryl sounds sheepish and out of breath, his thrusts starting to stutter from the effort the position demands. He doesn't need to ask again, Santa's hands quickly finding their way to his hips, lifting them up and pushing them down in an easy rhythm.

They start to lose themselves in the embrace, the only sounds registering in their ears those of their skin slapping together wetly and the soft little moans escaping Daryl's mouth in the shape of _Santa, more, please._ They find themselves tangled together on the bed only moments later, the teenager sprawled on his back, thighs spread wide around the older man's waist as he thrusts into him, hips undulating like a snake in the sand. It doesn't take long for the boy to come, crying out as Santa's hand on his cock milks him dry, nails digging into the man's broad back.

There is a fond smile on Santa's face as he watches Daryl fall apart in his arms, sweat making his hair stick to his face and neck, cheeks flushed and eyes so hooded it seems like a chore to keep them open. The older man strokes the boy's cheek almost reverently, like he's afraid to break the peace settling in his bones, but a small smile and a couple of words from the teenager and Santa's worries melt away like the snowflakes falling against the bedroom window.

_Go on._

And so he does. Daryl lets him use his body for as long as it takes, his orgasm washing over him after long minutes of lazy kisses and shallow pumps of his hips, and when he makes to pull away and lie down next to the boy, he can't. He can't because the teenager is holding onto him with so much force and so much raw emotion that it is both physically and mentally impossible for Santa to do so. So he doesn't. He stays in Daryl's arms, wraps his own around him and immediately starts kissing him again.

They stop kissing after a while, shifting so Santa is the one on his back now, Daryl lying on top of him with his ear plastered to the center of his chest, listening to his heart beat. The older man is stroking his hair, perpetually pushing the bangs away from his face, no matter how many times they fall back over his eyes. The boy seems content up until he's not, his body tensing slightly as he scoots up a little, crossing his arms over Santa's chest and propping his chin on his hands, a small frown wiping away the serene look on his face.

"Am I still on the Naughty List?" Daryl whispers it like a secret, like it's something he really doesn't want to think about, let alone talk about. He risks a glance at Santa's face and instead of the deep frown he was expecting there to be, he sees a soft, genuine smile.

"No. You're a good boy, Daryl. _Top of the Nice List._ "

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @[serenalunera](http://serenalunera.tumblr.com)


End file.
